( she almost wants to laugh (or maybe cry, or maybe laugh and cry) when percy smiles at her. it's a strange sort of relief to see his face, even if she's seen it countless times over the — no, not centuries. none of that actually happened. but it still feels different, to see him now and remember their real history together (the turbulent and arduous years of getting to this point of understanding one another), not just the vague feeling of familiarity — it's a bit like looking at a book that's been sitting open forever and finally being able to read it. she returns his smile, all clarisse and none of what she thought she was, though hers is slightly strained, frayed with nerves she's still trying to swallow. )
Actually, I want to show you something. ( because talking hadn't exactly worked with annabeth. percy might be an easier nut to crack, but she's still not taking any chances. she needs this to work so she can stop feeling so fucking crazy. she gestures to the small island in the distance. the isle of the lost, they call it. she's heard the stories, of course (or, at least, the stories are etched into her memory, just like all the other fake bullshit this reality keeps trying to convince her is real, and she has to wonder if this is the mist after all), she'd just never bothered to visit until recently.
clarisse isn't a planner, not like annabeth is. she understands strategy, she just doesn't often employ it, because it takes too long and she trusts her instincts more than her brain. but this time she has an idea, no doubt sprouting from her own unspoken fear that she's going to be left alone in this fabricated plane of existence with friends who are not her real friends anymore. fear, she realizes, is the key. she remembers her awful brothers phobos and deimos, how they'd toyed with her and percy's minds, made them see things that weren't real. this whole reality may as well be one of their illusions. she can use that. she just has to show percy, rather than tell him.
the isle of the lost is nothing like staten island (can anything really come close to staten island?) — but she hopes that between getting there and seeing what she's left there that it's enough. she loops her arm through his, casual in a way that's familiar and yet somehow unexpected for her. she rarely makes physical contact like this unless it's serious or necessary. right now, it's a little bit of both. )
Can you get us over there? ( she asks to percy, not to the herald he thinks he's become. it's not entirely a rhetorical question — obviously she knows full well what he's capable of — but she wants to gauge his reaction first. )
no subject
Actually, I want to show you something. ( because talking hadn't exactly worked with annabeth. percy might be an easier nut to crack, but she's still not taking any chances. she needs this to work so she can stop feeling so fucking crazy. she gestures to the small island in the distance. the isle of the lost, they call it. she's heard the stories, of course (or, at least, the stories are etched into her memory, just like all the other fake bullshit this reality keeps trying to convince her is real, and she has to wonder if this is the mist after all), she'd just never bothered to visit until recently.
clarisse isn't a planner, not like annabeth is. she understands strategy, she just doesn't often employ it, because it takes too long and she trusts her instincts more than her brain. but this time she has an idea, no doubt sprouting from her own unspoken fear that she's going to be left alone in this fabricated plane of existence with friends who are not her real friends anymore. fear, she realizes, is the key. she remembers her awful brothers phobos and deimos, how they'd toyed with her and percy's minds, made them see things that weren't real. this whole reality may as well be one of their illusions. she can use that. she just has to show percy, rather than tell him.
the isle of the lost is nothing like staten island (can anything really come close to staten island?) — but she hopes that between getting there and seeing what she's left there that it's enough. she loops her arm through his, casual in a way that's familiar and yet somehow unexpected for her. she rarely makes physical contact like this unless it's serious or necessary. right now, it's a little bit of both. )
Can you get us over there? ( she asks to percy, not to the herald he thinks he's become. it's not entirely a rhetorical question — obviously she knows full well what he's capable of — but she wants to gauge his reaction first. )